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Jul. 6th, 2004

The sky over my office is the intense, cloud-studded blue of a Magritte painting. I want to shuck off my kahkis and polo shirt, don the freedom of a three-piece suit, open my umbrella and drift into the sky, my face either a silhouette or a green apple. I long for the pararational liberation of the surreal. Do not concern yourself, my co-workers, we are rising vertically in an orderly exhaltation.


( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
Jul. 6th, 2004 09:52 am (UTC)
Glad you're getting some work done. The sky here is smooth as a mirror, only cracked around the edges, but it's ok, because the images being reflected are still visible. They shine down on me in a blinding frenzy.
Jul. 6th, 2004 10:05 am (UTC)
Am not, and have not. My computer, not equipped to celebrate the convivial anonymity of this aerial cosolitude, has been replaced with a shiny black jazz-era typewriter, which is not network compatible. This is frustrating, it won't run Excel 2002.

Are the low-lying clouds like the tarnish on the mirror's silver backing? Please say yes. The sound of a metaphore stretched too far is so gratifying when I'm skipping lunch.
Jul. 6th, 2004 01:10 pm (UTC)
Jul. 6th, 2004 06:19 pm (UTC)
Or poop, yes. I was suffering from not enough caffeine when I wrote that.
Jul. 6th, 2004 04:54 pm (UTC)
Amen, brother.
Jul. 6th, 2004 10:31 pm (UTC)
Clearly, this noble man understands :)
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )